


Slowly And Then All At Once

by Im_The_Doctor (Bofur1)



Category: Video Blogging RPF, Youtube RPF
Genre: Bad Days, Blindfolds, Blindness, Blood Loss, Blood and Injury, Caretaking, Caring, Domestic Fluff, Eventual Happy Ending, Exhaustion, Frustration, Hurt/Comfort, Illustrated, Insomnia, Messy, Multiple Personalities, Multiple Selves, Partial Mind Control, Pillow & Blanket Forts, Pillow Pile, Prophetic Visions, Senses, Sharing, Sickfic, Slice of Life, Surprises, Vulnerability, compassion - Freeform, discomfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2019-01-05 16:38:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12193674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Im_The_Doctor
Summary: As soon as the Host woke up, he could sense it: an uncomfortable tingle across the small of his back, tiptoeing upward, cramping his shoulders and neck and forcing a drowsy prediction through dry lips.“The Host is not going to enjoy this morning.”For reasons unknown, the Host can't bring himself to get out of bed, which naturally draws the attention of the other Egos and results in some chaos as they all try to care for him in their own ways. The Host just wants to get some more sleep.





	Slowly And Then All At Once

As soon as the Host woke up, he could sense it: an uncomfortable tingle across the small of his back, tiptoeing upward, cramping his shoulders and neck and forcing a drowsy prediction through dry lips.

“The Host is not going to enjoy this morning.”

From anyone else’s perspective, he had no basis for the assumption, but he had Foreseen it. He knew himself and his visions all too well and, as far back as he could remember, had never been able to dispute them. Even authors were subject to the machinations of their mind, weren’t they? Somewhere in the back of his thoughts, he wished Mark had given his abilities an on-and-off switch as he tried shifting to a more comfortable position.

As soon as he turned his face into his pillow, however, he could distinctly feel the sticky warmth of drying blood against his cheek; his bandages must have leaked at some point in the night. He was in a middle state, uncomfortable but still too groggy to do anything substantial about it.

Huffing softly, he mustered the energy to twist onto his other side. Within moments, his right eye socket, disturbed by the movement, flushed a disconcerting amount of blood into the already-sodden bandages—and the other side of the pillowcase. The iron smell burned the Host’s nose and for neither the first nor last time, he wished he had eyes to clench shut against the flow.

“The Host is _agitated_ ,” he hissed to no one in particular, ducking further under the layers of blankets and shoving his sullied pillow into the corner between the bed and the wall.

He really ought to drag himself out of bed and ask Dr. Iplier to change his dressings, but his body felt like lead, not to be moved. For half a second he considered lying on his back, but that would only result in the blood _pooling_ in the back of his eye sockets, which would be unpleasant, to say the least. Thus he turned onto his stomach, pushing aside any care about his bedsheets getting stained as rivulets dripped down the sides of his nose. Schooling his breathing, hoping to find sleep again, he finagled until the blankets covered everything but the top of his head.

An undetermined amount of time later, the door received a cautious knock and then creaked open. “Hey…Host?”

It was the doctor; the Host had already Foreseen that he would be coming, but he hadn’t cared to look far enough ahead to see what he wanted.

“You’re usually up and about by now,” Dr. Iplier ventured tentatively, his footsteps clacking noisily against the cement. “Are you dying?”

“No,” the Host deadpanned.

“Well, then, are you feeling okay?” There was a two-second pause before he added matter-of-factly, “That’s a lot of blood on your pillow.”

“The Host would like to request that Dr. Iplier leave him alone until he comes into the clinic for fresh dressings this afternoon.” How he would find it in himself to do that, the Host didn’t know, but he was hoping the doctor would respond well to the normalcy of the statement.

“It _is_ afternoon,” Dr. Iplier countered. “Listen, I’m a doctor. I can’t just leave you like this; I need to know if there’s anything I can—”

“Leaving the Host alone would be _satisfactory_ ,” he grumbled acidly in response even as he wondered: did he really want to be alone? He wasn’t sure, but Dr. Iplier was already withdrawing with a quiet sigh. While the Host didn’t hear the door close behind him, it was clear when his caretaker was gone.

It was just as clear when he came back, crossing the room in three quick strides without bothering to speak up. The Host tensed somewhat as his blankets were drawn back just enough for his head to be exposed. He heard Dr. Iplier’s breath stutter ever so slightly when he saw what a mess his face and fitted sheet were, but that moment didn’t last long. Deftly sliding his hand underneath the Host’s neck, he maneuvered a fresh pillow onto the bed in the same motion.

The Host was rarely ever surprised, but this was an exception. This didn’t feel like one of his backup pillows, which were stored in his bedroom closet; this one belonged to the doctor himself and it was…unexpectedly comfortable. Made of fresh cotton, it smelled faintly like hand sanitizer and more prominently of coconut-lemon soap. He resisted the urge to relax into it, however, looking over his shoulder instead.

“The Host will not presume that the doctor is willing to have his pillow damaged. He rejects…”

“It’s alright,” Dr. Iplier cut him off, patting the blankets until he found his shoulder to squeeze. “I’ve got others. I do want to change your bandages in a couple of hours, though. We don’t have to get into the deep cleaning or anything—just a dressing swap.”

“Very well,” the Host acquiesced at last. New gauze was something he could face with little complaint. With a last squeeze, the doctor left.

It was a new experience, the Host mused, allowing himself to lean his face into the new pillow inch by inch. He had never used one of the other Persona’s pillows, much less when he was in this state, but the soap smell was calming and the cotton was soft. Sleep was a fraction closer than it had been before—

Until another pillow thumped onto his shoulder. Self-consciously he jumped, craning his neck toward the door.

“Heard you’re feeling a little down…” Wilford drawled. “And I thought to myself, ‘How’s he ever gonna get back to his happy-go-lucky self with just _one_ pillow? I sleep with five and look how fresh an’ frisky _I_ am!’ So there. Have one of mine and you’ll be back to normal in no time! Wilford knows what’s best!”

The Host tilted his head, unsure of what to say, but he pulled Wilford’s pillow closer anyway. “The Host…thanks Wilford,” he managed before jumping a second time as Wilford promptly tousled his hair. When had he crossed the room?

“Yeah, ya should! That’s my _best_ pillow,” Will boasted before skipping away and slamming the door with a weighty thud and an unintelligible shout, undoubtedly to the other Personas.

Now armed with a second pillow, the Host sat up slightly, running his fingers over it. It was downy and overstuffed—nearly bursting at the seams, in fact—and had different materials on either side, one with ridges and the other with zigzags. While it was certainly a cushier option than Dr. Iplier’s, it held the bizarrely mixed scent of cotton candy and gunpowder, so the Host simply positioned it against the back of his neck for added warmth.

He did his best to relax, but he had been fully awoken after Wilford’s noisy exit and his bandages were starting to chafe. Perhaps he should have allowed Dr. Iplier to change them while he was here, but as soon as he thought about taking a single step across the cold cement waiting at the bottom of his bed, he sagged further into the mattress. Instead he listened to the other Egos clattering around in the open kitchen at the end of the hall, all chattering over each other. When cool air washed over his face and the noises became more defined, he fully expected the one who had cracked his door to speak up immediately, but there was a clear air of hesitance.

“…The Host beckons for the Silver Shepherd to stop loitering at the door,” he mumbled, lifting a few fingers in the best beckon he could give at the moment before curling into himself.

“Oh. Uhh…sorry about that,” Shepherd stammered, clearly embarrassed as he slid into the room with an audible swish of his cape, as well as another sound—oddly enough, it seemed like the splash of water. “Will was bragging to the rest of us about how he made you better? But I was just passing by and you didn’t seem very much better, so I thought maybe my pillow would be a better option!” His voice warmed as he added, “Well, actually, it’s Roxanne’s pillow, but I’ve always found it really comfortable and she lets me borrow it whenever I’m feeling down. I wanted you to know you can too! It’s a water pillow—” He sloshed it for emphasis. “—and it’ll be a lot cooler than Wilford’s! One side is black and the other side is white with black spots, so if you do want to use it, I can, uh, give it to you with the black side up so you don’t have to worry about the stains showing.”

There were times that Shepherd’s tendency to overexplain aggravated the Host, especially because he was able to Foresee exactly what was happening in more detail than Shepherd could ever hope to find. Other times, however, such as this one, he was able to take it graciously. The hero was just trying to be considerate. “The Host requests that the Silver Shepherd slide it underneath Dr. Iplier’s for support,” he replied.

“Oh, gee, okay! I’m glad I could help!” These words were accentuated by Shepherd’s oversized mitts lightly catching on the Host’s hair as he worked. “Now, Host, I gotta ask your advice…do you think it would be terribly _unheroic_ of me to tell Wilford you liked my pillow more than his?”

“The Host advises against phrasing it that way and suggests that he likes both for different reasons.”

“Aw, I guess you’re right. Thanks a bunch,” Shepherd laughed sheepishly, as if the Host had done _him_ a favor, before retreating. He stopped at the door one more time, starting, “Do you—?” and then revising, “Hope you feel better.” Given his tendency to take everything in leaps and bounds, he eased the door shut with surprising gentleness.

The water pillow did prove to mold well and have good support, though the Host was glad that Dr. Iplier’s subdued the tangy aroma of Raspberry Rush perfume. Once he got used to the muffled slosh under his left ear, the Host wound down into a light doze. That lasted perhaps fifteen minutes before he heard the whirring of android limbs and a brisk knock.

 _The Host no longer sees the point of knocking when the other Egos intend to come in anyway_ , he mused in resignation as Google_B promptly barged in, marching over and dropping something directly in front of the Host’s face.

“The other Egos have in-insinuated that I do not own a pillow, much less require one,” Google announced, glitching more out of impatience than the true need for an upgrade. “Do you consider this vi-i-iable proof?”

The flash of Sight came naturally and the Host found that it was, in fact, another pillow. It looked rather childish—the same blue as Google’s shirt, with red, yellow, and green G’s scattered across the case—and it was made of an unappealing synthetic fiber, but there was no disputing it. “The Host can approve it as an existing pillow,” he sighed.

“Thank you.” On that note, Google made his exit, calling back, “You may use it; it doesn’t pertain to any of my immediate objecti—” Before Google could finish his sentence, a dull thump and a distinctive yelp met him at the door.

“Whoa, easy, easy!” Bim warned, his dress coat shushing against the door as he slid past. “Coming through—Ohh, and here’s our Host!”

“The Host would like to inform Mr. Trimmer beforehand that he has more than enough pillows—more than he knows what to do with.”

“Yeah, I know,” Bim assured him. “I didn’t come with a pillow. Here, get a load of this!”

The aroma of cinnamon and dark chocolate reached the Host seconds later and he perked up, propping himself on his elbows and sniffing experimentally.

“Chai hot chocolate always makes _me_ feel better,” Bim explained cheerfully. “Especially when it’s got whipped cream, cinnamon, and six shots of expresso, like this one does! It’s sure to put some spring back in your step! Wilford and I drink it all the time!”

The Host paused with his hand halfway out of the blankets. As far back as he could remember, he had never been on a high, be it on sugar, caffeine, or drugs, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to experience the following crash on a day like today. “The Host would prefer to drink it _after_ he’s successfully been granted some sleep,” he offered, hoping he sounded apologetic.

Fortunately Bim was unoffended. “Oh, sure, no problem! I’ll just leave it on the bedside table here. Be sure to drink every ounce; I’ll make sure you did. We wouldn’t want Will getting ahold of it! He’s already had two!”

Armed with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, wondering what he would wake up to later on, the Host wordlessly nodded his agreement and Bim chuckled.

“Anyway, I’ll get out of your hair! Think you’ll be out for dinner? Yes? Yes! See you then!”

Again the door clicked shut and the Host was left to the silence. He couldn’t really imagine any of the other Egos intruding. Bim would undoubtedly tell the others that he needed time alone for his nap and judging by how chipper he was, he would make it snappy. Unfortunately, after so many interruptions, the Host found sleep hard to come by. His mind was alert now, as was the Foresight, and that meant visions.

Some were brief, bright flashes, convoluted images that he would have to detangle later, but others were agonizingly slow, dreamlike, colors and sounds fading in and out. He turned over a few times, keenly aware of how the mattress creaked and sucked him in. Once he rolled onto his stomach, it was a little better, but the relief was overshadowed by his eye sockets’ consistent _dripping_. He exhaled harshly into Dr. Iplier’s pillow and fidgeted, his back and neck tensing. The echoes in his mind were achingly sharp now, growing louder with each passing moment.

It was no longer in his mind.

Twisting around, the Host sprang upright in bed, pinpointing the exact spot where Dark’s footsteps had stopped. There was a minute filled by nothing but the ear-piercing ring of Dark’s aura and then he hummed low in his throat. The Host stayed perfectly still as Dark drew near and the aura enveloped him, muffling all other sensations. All he felt were Dark’s fingers sliding over his shoulder and all he heard was the murmur close to his ear:

“Get some sleep, Host.”

The message was impressed upon him, slithering into every conscious gap, stilling all other thoughts. Mildly dazed, the Host ducked his head in a nod as Dark stepped back, taking the cool weight of his aura with him. Stark awareness of the rest of the world returned and the Host shifted to find another pillow waiting for him. It was different than the others, he realized as he Saw it—memory foam encased in cool, shimmery black and red satin.

With a small noise of wonder, relief, delight, or perhaps all three, the Host slumped into it with just the right amount of force to send his mind into dreamless freefall. Knitting his fingers together behind his back, Dark studied his handiwork.

He and the Host tolerated each other pretty well. Sometimes they thought too much alike, which meant they had a wary relationship, but it was no secret that they intentionally kept an eye—or a socket—on each other in their everyday life, just a passing interest to make sure they were both well. With the role the Host had in their lives, he needed to be at his best and he certainly wasn’t going to be with the other Egos flittering about and costing valuable time. _If you want something done right_ …

Dark stayed a few seconds longer, pondering this, and then tsked, turning on his heel. “He had better enjoy that while he can,” he muttered as he glanced back at his prized possession with just a hint of regret. “My pillow’s going to be a _tragedy_ come morning.” With an added sigh as the Host unconsciously nuzzled his new favorite, Dark slipped back out toward the chaos awaiting him. 

Fin.

**Author's Note:**

> The Host is definitely my favorite of Mark's personas, though I love all of the others too <3 It was nice to explore some of the ones I hadn't written before, like Silver Shepherd and Bim! I hope you enjoyed! Leave a kudos or a comment to tell me what you thought; I'd love to hear from you!


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